


I Would Still Know You

by imtelevisionsmoirarose



Series: The Commonplace Book [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, David Rose is a Good Person, David Rose is a Nice Person, Domestic, Feelings, Feels, Husbands, Light Angst, Love, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon, Rosehill Cottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imtelevisionsmoirarose/pseuds/imtelevisionsmoirarose
Summary: Post-canon, Patrick watches David sleep and thinks about how time passes.________Writing referenced for this piece of the Commonplace Book is from Lang Leav's Memories
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: The Commonplace Book [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153289
Comments: 36
Kudos: 149





	I Would Still Know You

**Author's Note:**

> I always love the idea of Patrick and David being meant to find each other, whatever the situation, which is why some of the AUs in this fandom are so fun and I definitely need to read more of them. But I just thought I'd dwell on that idea a little here in some night time broodings Patrick has while watching David sleep.
> 
> Come visit me at im-televisions-moira-rose.tumblr.com :)
> 
> Read about [what a commonplace book is here.](https://notebookofghosts.com/2018/02/25/a-brief-guide-to-keeping-a-commonplace-book/)

_**Patrick Brewer's Commonplace Book, Volume 7, Page 45** _

_If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I._

_When we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. Love is the only thing we take with us. It is all we carry from one life to the next._

**— Lang Leav, Memories**

* * *

Patrick watches the moonlight filter across his husband’s face in the darkness of their quiet room, fingertips home as they dance lightly on the delicate skin of his stomach. The peaceful silence infiltrates Patrick’s head, winding its way through his thoughts about the store, about unfinished projects at the cottage, about getting in touch with his parents about the holidays. He lets it blanket them softly, muffling the buzz with a comforting ease as his hand rests against the outline of David’s cheek.

Five years of marriage to Patrick has contributed a distinguished series of fine lines to the corners of David’s eyes and mouth, to the center of his brow; Patrick loves to gently trace over them, reading a topographical history of their love with the tips of his fingers, a narrative of all the times he’s ever made David laugh. He knows David hates that he’s getting older and while Patrick understands the sentiment, he can’t identify. Maybe it’s because he’s the younger of the two so he can always tease David about that, but he thinks it’s mostly because he’s so grateful to be getting older in this way, with this person. 

Sure, Patrick’s body is aging. He feels the weight of years on cold mornings when everything is stiff and aching and even the walk from the bed to the shower doesn’t seem worth it until he sees the curve of David’s naked back.

But, sometimes, Patrick wakes up and it’s the day after David’s birthday seven years ago and everything is new and his heart is raw. Sometimes he wakes up, electric, in the middle of the night and they make love and Patrick could swear it’s the first time he’s ever touched David’s body, ever tasted his mouth. There are days where David is all Patrick wants to know and weekends where they shut the store down and never leave their bedroom, where Patrick finds himself again and again between David’s thighs with surrender constantly on his tongue. David is his largest wound. 

Patrick moves to touch David’s relaxed arm, running down to broad palms and long, elegant fingers. David’s hands are gorgeous and strong and precise. He thinks about his husband’s fingers inside of him, from that first time in Ray’s guest bedroom when he’d straddled David’s chest, aching with desire, to last night, his ankles on David’s shoulders, thighs pushed against his stomach on the bed. David’s eyes had flickered wildly.

“Look at you, baby.” He’d cooed, three fingers deep as Patrick came. 

Some nights Patrick wants David to break him and he does it beautifully, chest heaving as David opens him from the inside out, his entire body blossoming and unfolding like the dusky petals of a morning glory in the warm light of their room. And then some nights he holds David down against the mattress with strong hands and pushes into him and David says please with this look on his face like Patrick is the entire mother fucking universe and Patrick believes it. Two sides of the same coin, each keeping him centered.

Their bodies are constant companions. Patrick swears he can feel David enter a room with his eyes closed; the energy between them hums at a blistering frequency, bending everything in its path. In Patrick’s mind, they exist together outside of reality, so those sweet lines on David’s face ground him, remind him that they still have a lifetime to go.

David’s firm back presses against him and Patrick bites at a freckled shoulder softly. In the morning, they will wake up and do their errands, and work on their projects, and go over spring orders and restock their inventory, but then Patrick is going to fuck David on the hardwoods in front of the mirror in their walk-in closet to remind him what forever means and all night long he’ll kiss the fresh bruises on his knees. 

Closing his eyes again, mouth against David’s skin, Patrick thinks about time and how it flattens around him and the people he loves. How each moment feels as real as it did seven years ago. Tomorrow he will wake up and, for a split-second, be 30 years old in Ray’s guest bedroom, barely breathing, before David kisses him good morning and his brain remembers what his life really gets to be. 

But tonight he will fall asleep dreaming about his husband’s eyelashes and the soft skin at the base of his spine and he will be endlessly grateful.


End file.
